


my time stops

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Communication, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 06:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15455466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: hiroto brings smokey to his bedroom for the first time because he wants privacy if he's going to offer himself to smokey. smokey could never be grateful enough for such a privilege.





	my time stops

Having Smokey in his bedroom is a novelty considering they typically meet up at the edges of the Nameless Street, a haven Smokey would never leave even if he had no choice. Coaxing him to leave at all had taken a great deal of talking and suggesting and in the end Takeshi, Pi, and Yu nearly dragged him to where Amamiya Hiroto waited, his stomach tied in knots and an uncertainty pulling at the back of his mind. This is hardly a new avenue of thought for him though he usually puts less planning into such an event and assumes that once he takes his clothes off, the message will be clear enough.

Men and women have pursued Hiroto even when he was too young, when Masaki and Takeru had to step in to make it clear to people that Hiroto was nowhere near old enough or prepared enough for such a thing. When he was an adult, he let himself get carried away with his desire, letting those who chased him catch up just to see what they had to offer. None of them were worth more than a string of late nights and so few of them wanted to stay. Nothing felt worse than when Hiroto realized that he was being met behind closed doors for a reason.

Smokey is different. Smokey is the entire world all at once and Hiroto is always left breathless when the two of them are together, the man who fights his own dying body every single day to provide for those he calls his family. The friendship born from their fight had grown into so much more and Hiroto found himself going back again and again just to bask in Smokey’s presence, hardly aware of the feelings growing like vines between his ribs until they flowered under Smokey’s gentle touch and reassurance that Hiroto was just as loved.

That love had led to many shared nights at the Nameless Street but Hiroto always hesitated before it came time to bare his own body, nervous about shedding layers of himself where anyone might walk in. The Nameless Street is a beautiful, chaotic and unpredictable world, but what Hiroto needs right now is something mundane, something he knows like the back of his own hand, something he has control over. It means the comfort of his own bedroom, the reassurance that Masaki will not be back before morning, that he had run off to spend time with someone he danced around naming when Hiroto asked.

Typical of him, but Hiroto is glad for the peace and quiet. He likes that he can shrug out of his jacket, tossing it on his dresser, kicking his shoes off just behind the door. Smokey walks around the room slowly, fingers brushing over each piece of furniture, photographs, the bedspread Hiroto made sure to smooth over the mattress before coming to pick him up.

“What am I doing here, Hiroto?” Smokey’s eyes meet his, soft warm brown, and Hiroto almost thinks they might be slowly paling in color though he can’t quite be sure.

Hiroto wets his lips, leaning against the wall. “I wanted to give you something. Not exactly something I could give you in the Nameless Street.”

Smokey’s smile is gentle. “And what is it you want to give me?”

“Me.” Hiroto takes a deep breath to steady himself, balling his hands up as he shoves them into the pockets of his jeans. “That is, if you want me.”

“What a notion. Of course I want you.” Smokey hovers by the edge of the bed, head falling to the side. “Though… I’d like to use your shower, then, because the last thing I want to do is touch you without having had one. It’s not exactly easy to stay clean on the Nameless Street.”

The thought of Smokey naked in the shower contrasting sharply with the reality of what life on the Nameless Street is like threatens to break Hiroto’s brain. “Of course. I’ll show you to the bathroom and you can use whatever you want. Do you need clothes?”

Smokey chuckles softly. “You didn’t bring me here for something that would require them.”

“Guess not.” Hiroto fumbles for the doorknob, telling himself to stay calm. “This way.”

He leaves Smokey to the privacy of the bathroom and prowls through the rest of his home while he waits, double checking that everything is locked up for the night including the windows, not keen on having an invading Kuryu goon ruin their night together. With time to spare he checks his cell phone, ignoring the half a dozen messages from Masaki about where he is and when he will be home the next morning, the third repeat of this exact information since this morning. Then he shuts the device off entirely and leaves it to charge. No texts or calls tonight.

Smokey still hasn’t returned from the shower so Hiroto steps back into his bedroom, debating about whether or not he should undress and how much he should take off if anything at all. He leaves his belt on the dresser and unfastens his jeans, re-fastens them, and then finally yanks them all the way off like they’ve burned him, leaving his socks tangled up in the cuffs. He feels naked without the denim since it’s rare for him to even take off his shirt when he’s with Smokey. Both hands knotted in the bottom of his shirt, debating, he doesn’t notice that Smokey has returned to the room until a pair of arms wrap around him from behind.

“What a sight to come back to.” Smokey breathes the words against the back of his neck and Hiroto shivers all over, the tension easing out of his muscles. “Undressing for me?”

Hiroto bites his lip at the question, tipping his head back to rest on Smokey’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Don’t anymore. Let me.” Smokey’s hands settle on top of his own and Hiroto is reminded, not for the first time, that Smokey might seem frailer and more delicate than most men— a consequence of living poor, of being sick— but the inner strength he has topples men twice his size easily. “If your body is a present for me, then let me unwrap it.”

“That’s cheesy as hell,” Hiroto mutters.

Smokey laughs. “I know. But you’re the one who proposed the concept. So let me.”

This is far from the first time Hiroto has ever turned his body over to someone before, but there’s something about the way Smokey’s fingers ease his own away from his shirt. There’s something about Smokey’s hands slipping under the bottom of his shirt and over his bare stomach. It knocks the air out of his lungs and leaves him reeling, his eyes fluttering shut at the gentle contact and the featherlight pressure on his skin.

“You’re beautiful, Hiroto.” Smokey’s hands slip higher, fingers ghosting over the scars on Hiroto’s chest, faded from the passage of time. “Thank you for sharing yourself with me.”

“Gladly. You’re… I just wanted it to be us. No one walking in.” The mere  _ thought _ of someone interrupting makes Hiroto flush, heat crawling up his cheeks.

Smokey hums. “I can understand that. Turn around so I can properly see you.”

It takes a paramount effort for Hiroto to stop leaning on Smokey, to turn around to face him so there is distance between their bodies and Smokey’s hands are gone from his skin. But once he does, a choked noise yanks from his lips and he fumbles for something, knowing all too well that he’s ogling, that he’s  _ staring _ like a pervert because even though Smokey just came fresh from the shower, Hiroto does not expect to see him in nothing but a towel.

Even sick, even with the state the Rudeboys live in, Smokey does not look nearly as bad as Hiroto would have expected, and he doesn’t miss the lean muscle clearly on display— he knew Smokey was strong but seeing it in front of his eyes is something else entirely. The towel is low on his hips, low enough that Hiroto would expect it to slip off, the indents of his hips visible.

“Are you all right?” Smokey sounds amused, brows raised in question, though the slight smile toying with the corners of his mouth tells Hiroto all he needs to know.

“I almost swallowed my tongue,” he manages, gulping down air.

“That’s quite a compliment from you.” Smokey steps forward, grips the bottom of Hiroto’s shirt, and smiles up at him. “Lift your arms over your head for me.”

It’s hard to ignore such a simple request so Hiroto does and the shirt comes off in one fluid, quick motion— faster than he’s ready for, proof that Smokey isn’t trying to fuck around. In nothing but underwear, he feels like  _ he’s _ the one with the most on display and he struggles for a moment, not sure what to do with his hands before he just lets his arms come to rest at his sides. Smokey’s eyes move down his body so slowly and carefully he feels like he might be on display here, an art piece Smokey’s reverent gaze is intent on missing no paintbrush stroke of.

“You are flawless as I expected.” Smokey’s smile widens and Hiroto squirms, not used to the gentle words. “Come sit with me on the bed. I want to kiss you if that’s all right.”

“Of course it is,” Hiroto says, too fast, and he almost wishes he could just fall into a hole.

Something about being with Smokey reminds him of his first time, a fumbling virgin who tried to use his good looks to his advantage, tried to use his quiet and reserved nature to give him an air of confidence he was severely lacking at the time. He was lucky in that his partner quickly picked up how out of his own depth he was and took over, guiding Hiroto so that the experience in and of itself was better than most people tend to describe their first times being. Smokey seems intent on doing the same, guiding Hiroto down to where he wants him, taking Hiroto’s face in his hands and kissing him so carefully it makes Hiroto’s heart beat faster.

Hiroto is happy to let him do it, though he never wants to admit how much easier it is when someone nudges him in the right direction. Kissing is easy; Hiroto has nice lips and has been told this a dozen times, knows how to follow the rhythm of Smokey’s lips, opens his mouth when Smokey’s tongue teases over his lower lip. It’s slow and simple at first, just lips and tongue, but Hiroto is desperate and deepens the kiss, making little noises against Smokey’s mouth.

It’s just, he’s  _ desperate. _ He’s been thinking about this night for a month or so now and doesn’t want to admit how many times he’d arched his own back off of his mattress, a hand tucked between his thighs and the other over his mouth to quiet the noises that refused to stop leaving his throat. The last thing he needed was Masaki bolting into the room to ask if he was okay.

“Hush.” Smokey pulls away and Hiroto bites back a whimper, though another soft kiss calms him somewhat. “We have all night, Hiroto. Don’t get so wound up on me already.”

“Okay.” Hiroto swallows hard, lips wet and tingling still, thighs pressed tight together to ignore the slight ache building there. He knows that if he lets himself get too tense before Smokey has even touched him, it’ll take nothing more than a few brushes of his fingers to destroy him.

Smokey sets his hands on Hiroto’s shoulders, squeezes gently. “Lie back for me.”

It takes real effort to obey that command, though. Hiroto doesn’t want to be away from him, from the heat of his body and the softness of his touch. Still, he pulls himself the rest of the way up onto the mattress, drawing his legs up from the floor, twisting so that he can rest his shoulders against the pillows. He needs new ones, he knows, had bunched the ones up he had so that even with his full weight on them, he’s still half sat up.

“Can I undress you the rest of the way?” Smokey asks him, eyeing the black boxer briefs that are the only thing between Hiroto and those dark eyes.

Hiroto considers, then pulls his knees up to his chest. “You first,” he says softly.

“Fair enough.” Smokey stands, untucks the corner of the towel at his hip, and unwinds the worn pale green terry cloth. He’s already half-hard and Hiroto tries not to white, folding his arms around his legs and gripping them so tightly it almost hurts. “Are you all right?”

“I’m good. You’re… Wow.” Hiroto wishes he was better with words, but there are reasons he keeps himself quiet and lets Masaki do the majority of the talking. “You’re gorgeous.”

Smokey’s smile is serene as he climbs back onto the mattress. “Thank you. Now, I’ve held up my end of the deal. Can I finish undressing you?”

To the point. Hiroto swallows and nods, unfolding his arms, letting Smokey grip his ankles and pull them down. His fingers follow the lines of Hiroto’s legs, up his calves and over his thighs, his touch so intimate and careful that Hiroto quivers, not used to this kind of touch, this kind of treatment. Most people look at his exterior and assume they can treat him roughly and without much care so that Smokey’s cautious hands feel almost too much, but the right kind of too much, the kind that threatens to unravel Hiroto at the seams and leave him vulnerable and aching.

“Sorry if I’m taking my time.” Smokey’s fingers finally brush the bottom of Hiroto’s underwear, a bashful smile warming his face even further. “I can’t help myself. You truly are lovely.”

Hiroto tries not to laugh at that, shifting when Smokey’s hands come to rest at his hips, lifting his ass off of the mattress. “It’s ‘kay,” he breathes out. “I like the way you touch me.”

Smokey’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling the elastic away from his skin before tugging the underwear down his thighs, leaving him perfectly naked beneath. Hiroto almost wants to press his thighs together and hide himself but he takes a deep breath instead, letting his thighs fall open, aware he’s already slightly damp just from the way Smokey looks at him and touches him. When Smokey has tossed his briefs away, his eyes give Hiroto a slow but thorough up-down, lips parting around a soundless sigh.

“This is already the best present I have ever received.” He sits back on his heels, looking so much more put-together than Hiroto feels. “What do you want to do? I don’t want to push you into anything that’s going to make you uncomfortable, so I’d like to know your limits as well.”

The bluntness of his words has Hiroto’s head spinning; he tells himself to breathe. Smokey only wants to know to make this good for him, which is more thinking than Hiroto has already done for this. “Um, I don’t mind t-touching.” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to slow down how fast his heart is beating, wondering why this is so hard to talk about. “Not— Not penetration with fingers or toys, though. It’s a bad feeling. I don’t mind oral but that’s where I draw the line.”

“Noted. I won’t do anything to upset you.” Smokey’s hands land on top of his thighs and Hiroto shivers, feeling so exposed. “Let me know if I do anything wrong, Hiroto. Don’t hesitate. I’ll stop the moment you say the word, okay? You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I know that.” Hiroto smiles at the thought; he knows Smokey is a deadly fighter but the two of them have never had a serious conflict, only a small disagreement or two.

Smokey leans in to kiss him, and Hiroto savors the touch, the warmth. “What do you want to do tonight? Where do you want me to stop?”

“I don’t… Want you to stop? I, uh… I have…” Hiroto trails off, then leans over, half-hanging off of the bed to reach the bottom drawer of his nightstand. He’d washed the toy before picking Smokey up, locking the bathroom door behind him in case Masaki wandered in. “I have this.”

It had taken a lot of courage to order online, nights spent staring at the screen of his laptop and wondering if anything would be right, endless amounts of hours of research. Now, Smokey takes the toy from his hands without any reaction, fingers ghosting over the leather of the harness, heavier than most because Hiroto likes the added control it gives him. He examines it, turns it this way and that like he’s not holding a sex toy in hand before passing it back to Hiroto.

“I don’t mind if you use that on me,” he says conversationally. “I can do either or, so this is fine for me. How do you want me?”

“I get the feeling it’s probably better for you to be on your back,” Hiroto says, relieved.

Smokey nods slowly. “You’re probably right,” he says, though he doesn’t sound too happy to admit that and Hiroto’s heart hurts at the thought. “No, you’re entirely right and I’m being stubborn. Switch places with me.”

That’s easy. Hiroto steals a kiss as he goes and revels in the sight of Smokey stretched out in front of him, legs spread so that Hiroto can kneel between them. This feels so natural and easy, made all the more normal by the way Smokey smiles softly up at him, arms loose and resting on the pillows above him, fingers slightly curled. He’s perfect like this, Hiroto thinks; he can almost imagine they met under better circumstances, happier ones, instead of blood and bruises and a fight that never seems to end no matter how many people they take down in the process.

At least the fighting earned him this man, this moment.

“Here.” Smokey pulls one of the pillows out from under his head, passes it to Hiroto and lifts his hips, the sight making Hiroto’s mouth dry. “It’ll make things easier.”

“You’re right, as always.” Hiroto situations the pillow beneath Smokey’s hips and then has to lean past him again to retrieve a bottle of lube from the top drawer of his nightstand.

For now, he sets the harness aside and focuses on Smokey, the distinct lines of his body and the slow and steady rise of his chest. The sincerity of his expression as he looks up at Hiroto cannot be ignored and Hiroto swallows hard at the sight, slicking his fingers somewhat clumsily, lube dripping down to his wrist, but well, he’d rather have too much than not enough.

“You can start with two,” Smokey tells him, and Hiroto chokes. “It’s not been that long for me.”

He doesn’t have to ask, knows the bonds in the Rudeboys go deeper than face value and it’s never bothered him, the thought he shares Smokey with the others. Takeshi and Pi are never cold to him and welcome him with open arms if Smokey is away, Yu pouncing on him at the earliest chance he gets to greet Hiroto properly. Shion is still a mystery, but there is only so much Hiroto can do. At any rate, he knows what Smokey means, and he doesn’t mind.

How could he ever be jealous, when Smokey has more than enough love for everyone?

His hand still twitches when he presses two fingertips inside, the little noise Smokey makes at the contact making him pause. But Smokey rolls his hips, taking Hiroto’s fingers deeper into the tight and welcoming heat; Hiroto doesn’t hesitate anymore, working his fingers in slow and easy, taking his time but not too much. Smokey makes little noises up at him, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut, his breathing picking up just a little. Hiroto is careful, oh so careful, because the last thing he wants to do is trip Smokey’s illness, send him into a coughing fit.

“How does it feel?” Hiroto asks, pressing his thighs together tightly when Smokey moans, head tipped back. “Sm-Smokey?”

“It’s good, Hiroto.” Smokey stretches out a hand, fingers tracing the muscles in Hiroto’s bicep. “You’re doing such a good job. Don’t stop. Don’t slow down.”

Hiroto exhales shakily and nods. “Right, right.” He braces his other hand on Smokey’s hip, presses a third finger in with the first two and watches Smokey’s legs tremble. “Good?”

“You’re  _ great, _ ” Smokey tells him. His hand curls around Hiroto’s wrist, anchoring him. “If I wanted you to stop, I’d tell you. It’s good, though. It’s so good.”

“I trust you.” Hiroto curls his fingers up and Smokey gasps, fingers tightening on Hiroto’s skin, head thrown back against the pillows.

It’s the first time that Hiroto has seen him flushed healthily like this, a soft red color climbing up his face and down his chest, his thighs trembling as Hiroto moves the pads of his fingers slowly over his prostate. It’s a careful movement; Hiroto knows anything too rough can hurt more than please and he doesn’t want to hurt Smokey.

When it’s easy to move his fingers he removes them and reaches for the harness, startled when Smokey suddenly sits up. “Let me help you put it on,” he says firmly.

“Oh. Okay.” Hiroto doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone offer before.

Between the two of them, they get it on in record speed and Hiroto thinks, distantly, that Smokey must have done this before, but he can’t imagine with who. But he knows how to adjust the straps, how to make sure they sit on Hiroto’s hips correctly, that the toy is positioned where it’s supposed to go. If his fingers brush faintly over Hiroto’s labia as he leans up to steal a kiss, and if Hiroto gasps into his mouth at the contact, then so be it.

He’d worked hard to make sure Smokey could take the sleek black length of his cock and the head slips past his slicked rim easily enough; Smokey covers his eyes with a forearm but makes no noises of discontent, so Hiroto doesn’t stop. His hands come to settle on Smokey’s hips, holding him where he wants him as he works deeper inside of him, Smokey’s body pulling him in faster than he expects. When his hips are pressed against Smokey’s skin and he can’t move any more, he gives Smokey time to breathe, massaging his hips gently.

“Are you good?” His voice comes out quiet and breathy.

Smokey nods up at him, finally moving his arm away from his eyes. His pupils are blown so wide the gentle brown of his irises is nearly invisible. “Yeah.” His voice is husky and Hiroto worries but he takes a breath and it goes so easy. “You feel so good inside me, Hiroto.”

It would be easier if Smokey doesn’t stare at him so intently but Hiroto finds a slow and easy rhythm inside of him, not wanting to go too fast, not wanting to hurt him. He braces himself on a forearm so he can kiss Smokey, nuzzle against the side of his neck, listen to the soft sound of his breathing. When Smokey curls a hand around the back of his neck and licks inside of his mouth so carefully, Hiroto feels like he’s never had any control over any of this. Like the slow and steady slide of his cock inside of Smokey is less his doing than Smokey’s own.

He doesn’t mind. Giving up control to Smokey like this feels easy, feels right. He trusts Smokey not to use it against him like so many others would.

When Smokey wraps a leg around his waist to keep him close, Hiroto braces on both forearms, his forehead pressed against Smokey’s, breathing hot and hard against Smokey’s lips. It’s such a slow and gentle pace that he doesn’t expect it to feel this intense, the ache between his thighs building in intensity despite the fact he hasn’t touched himself, that Smokey had only barely. He hopes he doesn’t fall apart when Smokey does.

A slight change to the angle of his hips rubs his cock over Smokey’s prostate and he revels in the way Smokey twists away from him, pressing hard against the mattress even as he presses his hips up against Hiroto’s in offering. It reminds Hiroto that he’s hard, now desperately so, the slick head of his cock dragging against Hiroto’s stomach with the movement. It’s hard to stay balanced like this but Hiroto shifts back to one arm so he can wrap a hand around Smokey, fingers still slick with lube, smearing Smokey’s pre-come down the length of him to make it a slicker and smoother stroke.

“Is this good for you?” he asks, nuzzling Smokey’s throat, desperate for a response. “Is it enough?”

“It’s perfect.  _ You’re  _ perfect.” Smokey makes a noise, grabs Hiroto’s bicep and squeezes so hard it hurts. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Hiroto, please, just like that—”

He cuts himself off with a surprisingly loud, choked moan, hips bucking up hard, heat spilling across Hiroto’s fingers. Carefully, Hiroto works him through the orgasm, slowing his hips to a stop before easing his cock out. Smokey’s breathing is faster now, more labored, but it doesn’t have that familiar rasp Hiroto has gotten used to so he counts it as a win. Carefully, he slips the harness off, wincing at the way the leather rubs against him, too rough against a spot so sensitive. When he looks back up at Smokey, those dark eyes are on him once more.

“Come here.” Smokey pats his chest and Hiroto frowns, confused. For a moment, Smokey looks thoughtful, then sighs softly. “I can’t think of a way to say it that doesn’t sound mildly embarrassing. Come sit on my face. I know that wasn’t enough for you.”

Hiroto chokes on a noise but nods, careful as he moves up the length of Smokey’s body. “Rubbing against things usually isn’t enough for me,” he admits, carefully straddling Smokey’s face, wary of trying this at all.

Smokey looks up at him thoughtfully, hands ghosting up Hiroto’s thighs. “What do you do?”

Feeling the urge to shy away from such a question seems childish when he’s kneeling over Smokey’s face like this, when he’d just finished getting Smokey off, but it’s there just the same. “My fingers.” Hiroto’s cheeks burn. “Not inside, though. That’s… It always feels bad.”

“Like this, then?” Smokey’s hand moves faster than Hiroto anticipates, thumb stroking over the hood of Hiroto’s clitoris so suddenly his entire body jolts from the motion. “You’re very responsive.”

“Yes, like that!” Hiroto grips the headboard, fingers digging into the wood.

Smokey laughs softly and Hiroto struggles not to pout down at him for this. “I was just curious,” he says, wrapping his arms around Hiroto’s thighs, pulling him down a little. “Just my mouth, Hiroto. You were so wonderful for me it’s only fair for you to receive in turn.”

Hiroto grips the headboard tighter when Smokey leans up to kiss over his mound and then down to his labia, easing his tongue between them. He feels hot, like he’s going to burn up from even the slightest touch and so sensitive that when Smokey’s tongue flicks over his clitoris, his entire body trembles from the impact. He’s had nothing other than his own touch lately and this feels like a revelation, his body attuned to every stroke and lick of Smokey’s tongue. If he didn’t have the headboard beneath his hands, he doesn’t know how he’d anchor himself.

Smokey keeps a tight grip on his thighs, licking up into him earnestly, tongue teasing the edge of his opening before pressing inside. Hiroto’s vagina is already wet, because it takes so little and because Smokey is so much, more than enough. He screws his eyes shut so he can focus on the rhythm of Smokey’s tongue inside of him, the only thing he’d ever allow inside of him. It feels so  _ good, _ the way Smokey licks up and then out, tongue teasing the muscle, lapping along the edge of it until Hiroto keens softly.

“It’s all right.” Smokey pets his thigh, nuzzling against his labia until Hiroto squirms from the sensation, so swollen and needy it makes him shiver. “I’ve got you. Let go with me.”

“Please.” Hiroto presses his face against his own arm, his hands shaking on the headboard, his thighs quaking from how close he is. “Smokey, please—”

“You don’t have to beg.” Smokey kisses over him and Hiroto groans. “Anything for you.”

It takes so little. Smokey’s tongue presses over his clit and then he  _ sucks _ and Hiroto’s entire world whites out, a choked sob torn from his throat, body quivering so violently he has to fight hard to stay on his knees. Then Smokey eases him down on the mattress, rubbing his hands up and down Hiroto’s sides, hushing him softly, soothingly. It still takes a few minutes for Hiroto to come down from it fully, hot and so tired it’s hard to think about moving.

Smokey kisses the side of his neck, and Hiroto’s embarrassed to see how wet his face is, around his lips and down his chin. “You did so good for me.”

“We’re both going to need a shower after that,” Hiroto quips.

“I suppose so.” Smokey’s fingers sift through his hair and Hiroto nuzzles into the touch. “We can share the shower from what it looks like. It’s big enough for two people.”

“In a bit,” Hiroto murmurs, turning his head to properly kiss the worn palm of Smokey’s hand. “For now, just this.”

Smokey’s smile is so warm it hurts Hiroto’s heart. “All right. For now, just this.”

It takes an hour before Hiroto has the energy to stand and walk to the bathroom, but it’s well worth the wait to just lie in Smokey’s arms and revel in his warmth and love.


End file.
